Just to lighten the mood, and since a forum is a good place to confess your sins...

When I was a much younger man, my parents had a cat at the farm that came home with distemper. Of course, you don't want that cat running around the yard, so it had to go. This cat was a farm cat, not a lap kitty, so catching it was not an easy task, and holding it was downright dangerous. I was not living there at the time, so when I happened by for a visit, my sister asked me to "take care" of this cat.

So I was miles from home and did not have a proper cat rifle at my immediate disposal. I asked my dad what he had handy, and of course all he had was the trusty .30-30. I kind of grumbled about the .30-30 not being appropriate for a cat-sized animal, and I started my mother off on a tyrade about "just drown the damned thing!" that must have started before I was invited over by my sister. She started crying about how cruel that was, and begged me to do it in a humane fashion. Ok - so there I goes...

My wife (or maybe girlfriend at the time) was a reasonable lady with some smarts, so she suggested she fashion a noose-pole out of a piece of conduit and some string, and we catch the cat first and then shoot it so a miss would be out of the question. Sounds good to me so we set out to make the pole and catch the cat.

Of course that is easier said than done, but about an hour later we have the demon of a cat at the end of a pole and we are dragging it out back to shoot it. By this point the little miss is getting a bit emotional, and also asking about "splatter"... I told her to just hold the pole still and it will be over-with shortly.

She stands next to me holding the cat out and the cat is flopping around, but the head is pretty still, I got the gun on it and as I am about to pull the trigger, she drops the pole and the cat takes off at full tilt. Un-beknownst to me, at exactly this time, my sister comes around the side of the barn looking for us since we have been so long without a report from the catching effort.

The cat does a nice sweeping arc across the back yard, and just as it hits about 40 yards at a streak, I touch one off. My wife looks as the front legs keep going and the rear ones flop over with nothing but a pinkish string in between.

She instanlty starts making barfing noises (luckily none came) and crying. My sister is wailing uncontrollably. I am just staring in amazement that I actually made the shot! The other shocking thing is that the front end made it a good 10 feet from the back end before the teather ran out and the head on legs falls over. Lights out for the kitty.

Just then Mom yells out the back door: "Dinner is ready!" I don't recall that my wife ate anything that evening, and I know my sister didn't. Neither one has ever mentioned it again, but I won't ever forget it, either. On the up side... I don't think the cat really felt much, and it was probably better than dying of distemper.

Fuuny as hell and classic! Momentum to the max on the cat's part! And good timing with dinner!

You mentioned mother talking about just drowning the cat. That must have been the preferred way back in the day or something. I know a lot of people who talk openly about drowning the cats or kittens when they were sick or had too many. In the burlap sack they go and it's Jacque Cousteau time in the pond.